If you've been around an Open Source community for any length of time, you've probably heard someone say, "We're all volunteers here". Often this is given as an explanation for why some feature hasn't been implemented, why a release has been delayed, and in general, why something hasn't happened.
I think when we say these things (and I've said them as much as anyone), often we're being dishonest. Almost always it's not a question of an absolute availability of resources, but rather how we prioritize among the many tasks we could complete. It can explain why we didn't have time to do things, but not why we did them poorly.
Volunteerism does not place us above criticism, nor should it absolve us when we err.
Beyond this however, many Open Source projects (including entirely volunteer driven ones) don't just make their codebases available to others, they actively solicit users, and make the claim that people can depend on this software.
That dependency can take many forms. It usually means an assumption that the software will still exist (and be maintained) tomorrow, that it will handle catastrophic bugs in a reasonable way, that it will be a stable base to build a platform or a business on, and that the software won't act unethically (such as by flagrantly violating expectations about privacy or integrity).
And yet, across a variety of these policy areas, such as security and backwards compatibility we often fail to properly consider the effects of our actions on our users, particularly in a context of "they have bet their businesses on this". Instead we continue to treat these projects as our hobby projects, as things we casually do on the side for fun.
Working on PyCA Cryptography, and security in general, has grealy influenced my thinking on these issues. The nature of cryptography means that when we make mistakes, we put our users' businesses, and potentially their customers' personal information at risk. This responsibility weighs heavily on me. It means we try to have policies that emphasize review, it means we utilize aggressive automated testing, it means we try to design APIs that prevent inadvertent mistakes which affect security, it means we try to write excellent documentation, and it means, should we have a security issue, we'll do everything in our power to protect our users. (I've previous written about what I think Open Source projects' security policies should look like).
Open Source projects of a certain size, scope, and importance need to take seriously the fact that we have an obligation to our users. Whether we are volunteers, or paid, we have a solemn responsibility to consider the impact of our decisions on our users. And too often in the past, we have failed, and acted negligently and recklessly with their trust.
Often folks in the Open Source community (again, myself included!) have asked why large corporations, who use our software, don't give back more. Why don't they employ developers to work on these projects? Why don't they donate money? Why don't they donate other resources (e.g. build servers)?
In truth, my salary is paid by every single user of Python and Django (though Rackspace graciously foots the bill). The software I write for these projects would be worth nothing if it weren't for the community around them, of which a large part is the companies which use them. This community enables me to have a job, to travel the world, and to meet so many people. So while companies, such as Google, don't pay a dime of my salary, I still gain a lot from their usage of Python.
Without our users, we would be nothing, and it's time we started acknowledging a simple truth: our projects exist in service of our users, and not the other way around.Tweet This entry was tagged with django, python, open-source, community. blog comments powered by Disqus